


Archie Hurts the Ones He Loves

by shalako



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Kind of Hurt/Comfort, M/M, actually definitely hurt/comfort at parts but as a whole its a fluff fic, clumsy Archie, clumsy Gold as well, fear of hospitals and the confrontation of such, fluff and sketchy attempts at humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 20:58:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10499346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shalako/pseuds/shalako
Summary: In which Archie accidentally punches Mr. Gold in the face.





	

**Author's Note:**

> me, singing and dancing: this fic makes no sense and the romance comes out of nowhere bUT ITS BEEN IN MY DRAFTS FOR OVER A YEAR AND I CANT TAKE IT ANYMORE SO HERE IT IS ENJOY

Archibald Hopper was out to get him and had no shame. He would do anything, no matter how violent, and he would do it in public - in front of a million witnesses, if he had to. In the past few weeks, he’d tripped Mr. Gold (humiliating), spilled scalding hot coffee all over him, punched him in the face (Gold  _ still  _ had a black eye), and jabbed him in the … in a very  _ sensitive  _ place with an umbrella. Gold was starting to dread the sight of red hair.

It was possible, of course, that all these things were accidents. Hopper always profusely apologized after each one, and it seemed a little out-of-character for such a soft-natured man to start outright attacking people.

_ Perhaps it’s been his plan for years _ , Gold thought, examining the black eye in his bathroom mirror. It was just starting to fade.  _ Perhaps this last decade has all been an elaborate ruse. He assumes the role of a therapist, gains everyone’s trust. And then when he starts assaulting people, everyone believes his excuses. Because dear Dr. Hopper would  _ never _ attack someone… _

Gold sighed and stopped poking at the bruise. The first day, when it had been black and purple instead of yellow, he’d warred with himself for half an hour over whether he should cover it up. He’d gotten very adept at hiding bruises when he was young, but it hadn’t been necessary in so long, and he wasn’t sure he could still pull it off with any skill. And besides, he only had lavender-based concealer, which wouldn’t be very helpful in the earliest stages of the bruise. In the end, he convinced himself that he wasn’t self-conscious about these things anymore, and he’d gone to the pawnshop with the bruise on full display.

He really wished he hadn’t done that. The damn thing was lasting forever, and Gold was sick of people gawping at him or - worse - asking who had done it. 

Gold tore his eyes away from his reflection and finished getting dressed. If he just stayed away from Dr. Hopper, he would be fine.

* * *

Archie’s gut twisted with guilt every time he saw Mr. Gold. He’d tried to give Gold a wide berth ever since tripping him on the crosswalk - he hadn’t seen Gold wear that suit once since that incident. Archie’s face had gone pale when he’d seen the torn fabric on the knees and the bloody skin underneath, and he’d just prayed to God that someone, somewhere would be able to patch it up. And Gold’s palms had been scraped, and he’d had to put pressure on the cuts so he could walk with his cane, and then blood had gotten streaked on the cane handle, and … ugh. It was just a bad situation.

So Archie had tried to avoid Gold for a while, but they’d still run into each other in the diner less than a week later, and in his haste to get away, Archie tripped over his own feet and spilled fresh, hot coffee on Mr. Gold. Gold had gasped and hissed but that had been all, even as blisters rose on his hands where the coffee had scalded him. He’d just looked at Archie like this was the ultimate betrayal - which was a ridiculous thought, because they were nowhere  _ near  _ close enough to betray each other - and Archie had almost died from guilt.

“Okay,” he said, fidgeting nervously while Mr. Gold stood perfectly still, looking pained. “Okay, okay, uh - um, God, it’s on your hands --”

“Yeah,” Gold said through gritted teeth. It was all over his sleeves and the front of his jacket, too, but the hands were more important. 

“Okay,” Archie said, closing his eyes briefly, trying to remember his First Aid courses. “Hands. You have to go to the hospital for hands, I think. Hands, face, feet, and genitals.”

“ _ Dr _ .  _ Hopper _ ,” Gold bit out, looking embarrassed. Archie blushed and waved that thought away, choosing to ignore the few people he saw watching them with grins.

“Come on,” he said with a gesture toward the door. “Let’s go. Hospital.”

“That’s not necessary,” Gold said. He flexed his fingers and tried to hide a wince.

“You can’t drive there yourself with burnt hands,” Archie reasoned. “My car’s right outside.”

The whole restaurant was watching - had been for quite some time. This was Archie’s worst nightmare; even if he  _ didn’t  _ have a crush on Gold, this would be horrifying.  _ Gold _ was horrifying. And now he’d physically hurt Gold twice within two weeks.

Those were second-degree burns, for fuck’s sake.

“Come on,” Archie said again. This time he hooked his arm around Gold’s and practically dragged him out of the diner, careful to avoid the burns. Gold dug his heels into the ground, trying to resist, but that just ended in both of them stumbling and nearly falling on their faces.

“Don’t be stubborn,” Archie said, opening his car door for Gold.

“Don’t kidnap me, then,” Gold snapped. But he got in without much of a fuss, glaring out the window as Archie sat down and started the car. The ride to the hospital was almost silent; the only sound was Archie’s profuse apologies, which grew quieter and quieter each time Gold ignored them. When they finally reached the hospital, Gold grabbed his cane clumsily and bolted out of the car before it was even fully stopped, leaving Archie behind.

Archie sighed heavily, leaning his head against the steering wheel, and vowed to  _ really  _ keep his distance this time.

And he did. For two and a half weeks. And then …

It was Saturday - a busy day for a therapist. People always wanted to have therapy on their days off, which made the weekends ultra busy for Archie. But there were days - and this was one of them - where Archie left work and went for a walk when the moon was out, feeling a little bit melancholy from listening to other people’s sad stories all day. It was summer and the days were hot but the nights were chilly enough to justify a jacket and, after walking long enough, a cup of coffee at Granny’s.

Archie scanned the entire establishment before setting foot inside - Mr. Gold was nowhere in sight. Granny’s was safe.

With a sigh of relief, Archie went in and ordered a cappuccino. Granny’s wasn’t especially busy; he stayed by the counter, taking a seat on one of the garish red stools and chatting with Ruby whenever she had a chance. Archie had a soft spot for Ruby; she reminded him of a young, female version of himself.

They had just gotten onto one of Archie’s favorite subjects - Star Trek: Deep Space Nine - when the door opened behind him. Archie didn’t notice, but Ruby did. While he chattered on about Quark and Odo, hands waving wildly, she turned and started preparing Gold’s coffee.

“And here’s the thing, here’s the thing,” said Archie, making a fist with one hand. “When Odo’s melting, and he’s basically lost all composure and everyone’s watching him, even though he’s so private and this is like his worst nightmare - who’s the ONE PERSON who turns away and refuses to watch? Quark!”

Archie flung his hand upward, a gesture that was partly triumphant and partly for emphasis, but the trajectory of his fist was stopped by the horrible feeling of skin touching skin, and then his knuckles crunching against a bone, and by the time it was all over Archie was still sitting in his chair facing Ruby, wondering what on Earth had just happened.

He swiveled around. There was no one behind him, but --

He looked down. There was someone on the floor. Wrong -  _ Mr _ .  _ Gold  _ was on the floor, with one hand clasped over his eye and the other hiding his nose. There was an obvious correlation here; Archie had accidentally punched someone, and Mr. Gold was the only one near him, and Mr. Gold had just been knocked off his feet by something, and something had obviously just hit Mr. Gold in the face, but Archie’s brain refused to make the connection. He stared at Gold, at a loss for words.

“You idiot,” Ruby said. “You punched him in the face.”

Her voice held a mixture of awe and what Archie could only describe as an I’d-hate-to-be-you tone. Gold’s one visible eye squeezed shut and Archie’s brain was still doddering along, gazing at the clouds instead of at all these clues to what just happened.

“Mr. Gold,” Archie blurted, blinking rapidly. “What are you doing on the floor?”

The eye shot open again, glaring at Archie just as Ruby groaned. 

“You punched him in the face!” she said again. Archie gaped at her.

“Really?”

“ _ Yes _ !”

He turned to look at Mr. Gold again, this time with a silent question on his face. Gold’s right eye, the one he wasn’t covering, rolled.

“Yes,” he said, voice muffled by his hand.

“Oh.” Archie’s hands came up and went back down again, his lips twitching as he tried to come up with something to say. “Oh - oh, God, are you hurt?”

It felt like the entire restaurant was sighing at him. Archie stumbled off the stool and narrowly missed stomping on Gold’s ankle - which, he reflected with some sarcasm, would be just the perfect end to the perfect day. He knelt by Gold and grabbed his wrist, trying to pry Gold’s hands away from his face. And, good God, Gold’s burns hadn’t even fully healed from their last run-in -- his hands were still wrapped in bandages. Archie was slowly killing him.

“Where does it hurt?” Archie asked, unintentionally slipping into the voice he used for his youngest patients. Gold nailed him with a scathing look.

“Three guesses,” he said, still clutching his eye and nose.

“Okay,” Archie said, “dumb question. Can I see, though? You’re not bleeding, are you?”

Gold reluctantly removed his hands, one after the other. Slick, still-wet blood coated the area between his nose and upper lip, with a few stray drops splattered on his cheeks. There was blood all over his fingers and palms, too, and it was amazing that he’d managed to hide it all up until now.

“Uh, yep,” Archie said, his voice little more than a whisper. “Yep. Yep, you’re bleeding.”

“I am?” said Gold, and Archie had already nodded earnestly before he realized the question was sarcastic.

“Oh,” he said. “Right - are - is your - do you think your nose is broken? Does it - does it feel broken to you?”

Gold’s eyes widened momentarily, showing a hint of real surprise.

“You think it’s broken?” he said. His hands flew up again, touching his nose gingerly. 

“No!” Archie said quickly. “Well, I -- maybe, but I can’t really tell. Uh, have you - have you broken it before?”

“Yeah,” Gold said. Archie waited for him to go on; when he didn’t, Archie floundered, searching for something to say.

“Did it - well, did it feel like this?”

“It’s a little hard to compare pain,” Gold pointed out.

“Oh. Well, yeah --”

“Considering it’s been twenty years since I broke my nose -”

“Right, okay,” Archie said, flushing. He pulled Gold’s hand away again, giving it a gentle squeeze which, based on Gold’s glare, was not appreciated one bit. “Ruby,” Archie called, knowing without looking that Ruby would be hovering right behind them, “can you hand me some napkins?” He looked at the blood on Gold’s face. “Like, a  _ lot  _ of napkins?”

He heard her heels clacking over the tile - to the counter and back again - and then a handful of the diner’s cheap napkins were stuffed into his hand. Archie peeled one off the pile and held it out, fully intending to clean Gold’s face, when Gold snatched the entire pile and pushed himself backwards until there were several feet between him and Archie. He held the napkins up to his nose, glowering at Archie.

Archie suddenly felt very silly. He’d just been publicly caught occupying a fantasy universe where he and Gold were .. well, at the very least  _ friends _ , because you couldn’t go around cleaning an  _ acquaintance’s  _ face, could you? He felt like everyone was staring at him and judging him for both his actions and his tomato-red face.

Of course, he just had to look around to see that everyone was actually staring at  _ Gold  _ and his growing pile of bloody napkins. Archie sighed quietly and stood up, walking the few steps it took to get to Gold and holding out a hand. Gold stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending, and then carefully put tucked the remaining napkins into his pocket and took Archie’s hand. Archie hauled him to his feet, waiting until he was sure Gold had his balance before swooping down to grab his cane.

Gold accepted it without a word, already holding a fresh napkin to his still-bleeding nose. Archie glanced at Gold, looked away, and then snapped his eyes back again - just his luck. Gold was developing a black eye.

“Jeez,” Archie muttered. He raised his voice a little, addressing Mr. Gold. “I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Gold, really, I know I - it really must seem like I’m - I’m  _ trying  _ to hurt you, but I swear, it’s just a stream of unlucky accidents. I swear.”

“Right,” said Mr. Gold. He used the side of his foot to push the napkin pile closer to the trash can. Archie had the distinct feeling, as Gold bent to pick the napkins up, that his gaze was being deliberately avoided.

“You need a ride home?” Archie asked. “You lost a lot of blood.”

“I’m fine,” Gold said. He reached past Archie and handed Ruby a five, then grabbed a cup of coffee Archie hadn’t noticed until just now. 

“You sure?” Archie asked. He followed Gold toward the door, only stopping when Gold gave him a wide-eyed look that was half-foreboding and half-incredulous.

“ _ Yes _ ,” Gold said. “ _ Quite _ sure.”

Archie bit his lip and Gold hesitated with his hand on the door, giving Archie an exasperated, hurry-up-and-spit-it-out look.

“I really do feel bad,” Archie said. Gold rolled his eyes.

“Stop trying to kill me or I’ll raise your rent,” he said, and he was out the door before Archie could even respond.

So, Archie reflected, thus far he had managed to trip Gold outside on the road - thereby ruining his suit -  _ and  _ given Gold second-degree burns,  _ and  _ punched him in the face right here in the diner. It wasn’t just that he’d caused physical damage to Storybrooke’s resident silver fox  _ three times  _ \- it was also the fact that he’d done it publicly, in front of dozens of people. There was even a video of the coffee incident going around; Archie had got an email about it from Henry, and the comments were vicious.

Not toward Gold, of course, because for all anyone knew, Gold had a YouTube account and did weekly searches of his own name. No, most of the comments were directed at Archie, and a lot of them were from people either using their public Gmail accounts to sign in (Dr. Whale) or deliberately signing their full name to the comment so Archie would know who was making fun of him (Leroy).

Archie vowed, yet again, to avoid Gold at all costs.

* * *

Archie vowed, yet again, to avoid Gold at all costs. And for the most part, he did. A whole month came and passed - rent day went by uneventfully (Gold, for once, sent a hired man to collect Archie’s rent instead of collecting it himself). But this time, Archie wasn’t going to get complacent. He checked every building he entered for Mr. Gold. He crossed the street to avoid him, if necessary.

And then, in the diner once again - because apparently it was cursed, or something - Incident #4 descended on Archie like a sudden rainstorm.

Literally.

“Shoot,” Archie whispered, pushing the clutch on his umbrella as hard as he could. He’d left his regular at home and had been forced to buy a cheap $2 one from the general store, and it was already broken. The metal clutch refused to budge, and Archie had already scraped his fingertips to all hell and bent his thumbnail backward trying to force it.

He muttered under his breath, face going red with embarrassment. No one in the diner was paying any attention to him, but it felt like they were all watching. Archie scooted closer to the door to avoid Ruby as she walked by with someone’s dinner.

He redoubled his efforts. The door opened. And Archie didn’t think to look up to see who was coming inside; the clutch gave way and the umbrella suddenly shot out, doubling in length, and …

Ramming right into Mr. Gold’s balls.

“Oof,” Gold said, doubling over. He looked up at Archie incredulously before pain washed over his face and erased all expressions known to man. Archie clapped a hand over his mouth; all he could do was watch in horror as Gold struggled to stay on his feet.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Gold whispered. He realized he was gripping himself and deliberately moved his hand away; it looked like the nerves in his arm were bunching up, making muscles twist and fingers tremble. He tried to straighten up but failed and just doubled over again.

“Shit,” Archie said.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Gold said again. He squeezed his eyes shut. Archie watched him, his ears red and full of the sound of stifled laughter from around the diner.

“Mr. Gold,” Archie started desperately, “I--”

“I’m raising your rent,” Gold said, his voice barely audible.

“I - oh,” said Archie. He couldn’t tell if Gold was joking or not. “I - are you okay? Do you need me to get you some ice? Er, some frozen peas?”

Gold just shook his head. The muscle-twitching had subsided, for the most part, and he took a few wary steps toward the counter, distancing himself from Archie. Archie hesitated, torn between leaving and staying to make sure Gold was okay. But, he reminded himself, staying hadn’t really helped much the last three times, so while Gold’s eyes were closed - face pale - Archie slipped out the door and into the rain.

* * *

Gold had never been afraid of anyone in Storybrooke - even his largest, most aggressive tenants - but he was certainly growing wary of Archie Hopper. The first few incidents had been easy to pass off as just that: incidents. But after the punch to his face, he was starting to question things. Either Hopper and Gold combined were the most accident-prone people in the world, or Hopper was slowly but surely beating his landlord up.

Gold sat at home, a cup of ice nestled between his legs, and reviewed his options. So far, three out of the four incidents had happened in Granny’s Diner, and the fourth had happened in the street just outside. It was easily his most frequent point of contact with Hopper - Gold didn’t typically collect rent himself, and even if he did, that was once monthly, and he saw Hopper in the diner at least once a week.

Easy solutions. When necessary, he could collect rent from the Lucas duo at their inn instead of at the diner, and if he wanted coffee - well, he’d just have to start making it himself. He had a coffeemaker tucked away somewhere, had even used it once or twice.

Gold sighed. It felt good to come up with a solution.

* * *

Gold woke up to the sound of mournful howling; he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, thinking for a moment that it was Neal’s old sheepdog, Bowser. But Bowser had been dead for more than a decade. The howling turned to barking, and Gold struggled to ignore it and go back to sleep. His eyes started to burn, turning itchy - he was past the point of no return, then.

With a sigh, Gold stood up and crossed to the bedroom window, glancing outside. It took him ages to see past his own reflection and spot the dog - a blur of white against the darkness in his front yard. It was barking at the tree, evidently enraptured by a squirrel. Gold sighed heavily and grabbed a pair of pajama pants out of the hamper, pulling them on as he stumbled out of the room, not bothering to grab his cane.

He regretted that by the time he made it down the stairs. Gold rooted around in the closet, searching for Bowser’s old leash, wondering if he even still had it - to his luck, it was wound up on a hook at the very back, covered in dust. Gold shook it off and headed outside, bracing himself against the cold night air. The dog stopped barking as soon as Gold opened the door; it turned to him, wagging its tail, tongue hanging out of its mouth. Gold took a few steps, the wet grass tickling his feet, and whistled; the dog came bounding toward him.

He didn’t need the leash just yet, as it turned out; the dog followed him inside willingly, circling between Gold’s legs and doing its best to trip him. Gold flipped on the kitchen light and bent down, struggling to grab the dog’s collar and avoid getting his face licked.

“Pongo?” Gold said, reading the tag on the collar. The dog barked happily in response; he looked kind of familiar, now that Gold thought about it. His suspicions were confirmed when he turned the tag over and read the address on the back.

Dr. Hopper’s dog.

Gold sighed again and grabbed onto the fridge for support as he stood. Pongo barked again, louder this time.

“Shush,” Gold said. “Let me get dressed.”

He made his way back up to his room with Pongo trailing close behind, ignoring every order to stay. The dog wound up bursting into the bedroom before Gold did; he bounded onto Gold’s bed, circling a few times. He left wet pawprints on the bedspread.

“No!” Gold said sharply. “You are not sleeping there. Down!”

Pongo laid down with evident satisfaction. Gold grumbled under his breath and got dressed quickly, pulling out the first suit he found in his closet. He couldn’t believe he was awake and getting dressed at two a.m. on a Thursday. He eyed the misfits in his closet - the collection of sweaters and flannel shirts and jeans, things he hadn’t worn in public in years. Gold considered them for a moment; they were a lot more tempting right now than his uncomfortable suits. But eventually he shook his head; Hopper was a tenant, and it wouldn’t be good to let his guard down.

Gold put his suit on hastily and then paused, looking at Pongo. Let his guard down from what, exactly? Hopper was a  _ tenant _ and this was Storybrooke, Maine, population 9,085. When had he become so pretentious? What the hell was the point in wearing suits everyday instead of comfortable clothes?

Gold groaned, leaning his forehead against the closet door. Two a.m. thoughts. He was always the most frank with himself early in the morning, but - perhaps unfortunately - these thoughts would fade by the time the sun came up.

“Come here, Pongo,” Gold said wearily. The dog came willingly, tail wagging as Gold fastened the leash to its collar. “Let’s take you home.”

* * *

Archie was wakened by the sound of his doorbell ringing - a hideous sound at the best of times, but especially horrible this late at night. He stumbled out of bed, putting his glasses on as an afterthought as he descended the stairs. He was sleepy, but not too sleepy to feel dread - only the police rang doorbells this late at night, and Archie was quickly flipping through his mental rolodex, trying to figure out who could have died.

He opened the door and was so shocked to see Mr. Gold with Pongo that he didn’t register the sight for a full minute.

“Mr. Gold?” Archie said finally, weakly. Gold’s eyes flickered down, landing briefly on Archie’s crotch before shooting back up. Gold looked at a point somewhere to the right of Archie’s head, blushing faintly.

Archie looked down. He was wearing nothing but his boxers.

And he was hard.

Archie slammed the door shut without a second thought, cheeks flaring as he remembered - too late - the dream he’d been having moments before the doorbell rang. But the door didn’t close all the way; it smashed into something an inch before it reached the frame, and Archie heard two horrible things at once - the sound of crunching bones and the sound of Gold’s brief, cut-off scream.

“Mr. Gold!” Archie said again, his voice little more than a shriek. He yanked the door open again and Gold pulled his hand closer to his body, cradling it. He squeezed his eyes shut and Archie was appalled to see tears running down Gold’s face.

“Shite,” Gold whispered. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

Archie put a hand on Gold’s shoulders and ushered him into the house quickly; despite his pain, Gold was still gripping Pongo’s leash, and Archie had to pry it out of his fingers. Gold barely seemed to notice what was happening; his eyes were hazy with pain, and when Archie gently pushed him into an armchair in the living room, Gold looked around like he had no idea where he was.

“Shit, Mr. Gold, I’m so sorry,” Archie said breathlessly. “Is it broken? Can you move it?”

Gold stared at Archie balefully and made no attempt to move his hand. “Give me a minute, will you?” he said. “You can run whatever tests you like later.”

“Right,” Archie said. “Sure, of course. I-I’ll go get the First Aid kit, okay?”

He started to run out of the room, then paused, looking back at Gold. “Thanks for bringing Pongo over!” he said quickly. “I didn’t even know he got out!”

Gold gave him an incredulous look and Archie zipped out with a backwards glance. The First Aid kit was in the downstairs bathroom, right next to the front door. He was back within seconds, gently nudging Pongo aside so he could see to Gold.

“Okay, let me see it,” Archie said, reaching for Gold’s hand. Gold jerked back, then made a strangled noise and went still, a few more tears leaking from his eyes.

“Shit,” he breathed. Archie put his fingers on Gold’s gently, probing as carefully as he could for broken bones. Gold held his breath, his free hand covering his mouth; when Archie hit a sore spot, Gold just closed his eyes, forcing himself not to flinch.

“Yeah,” Archie said after a moment, sitting back. “I-I think it’s definitely … there’s definitely some broken bones there. You’re gonna have to go to the hospital.”

Gold said nothing; Archie could see a faint, barely-noticeable discoloration of the skin on Gold’s hands, and he realized with a nasty jolt that those were burn scars. He suddenly felt horribly ill.

“We should go,” Archie said, standing up. “I’ll drive you.”

“You’re not wearing any clothes,” Gold ground out, his teeth clenched. Archie looked down at himself again and flushed; at least he wasn’t hard anymore.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, and bounded up the stairs with Pongo at his heels. Archie dressed quickly, not paying much attention to the clothes he chose. When he came back downstairs, Gold gave him a funny look.

“What?” Archie asked, looking down at himself. His pants didn’t really match his sweater, but that didn’t warrant the look he was getting.

“Your sweater,” Gold said. Archie plucked at it; it was thick, itchy Irish wool, forest green.

“What about it?” he asked. Gold looked embarrassed now, like he wished he hadn’t mentioned it - but despite his embarrassment, his face was still pale from the pain.

“I have the same one,” he said. Archie’s eyebrows shot up.

“A much nicer version, I’m sure,” he said. Gold shook his head mutely. “Well, it doesn’t matter. C’mon, let’s get you to the hospital.”

“Do we have to?” Gold said, and Archie was surprised to hear a hint of a whine. Gold seemed to hear it, too; he set his gaze on the floor, glaring at it while he cradled his wounded hand. “It doesn’t seem necessary,” he said. “Look, I can move it just fine - nothing’s broken.”

He flexed his fingers slowly, carefully, wincing the whole time but still giving Archie a look that seemed to say “there, I’ve proved my point.”

“If something  _ is  _ broken, though, you could seriously hurt yourself by not going,” Archie said. 

“I know that,” Gold said, giving Archie a filthy look. “But  _ nothing’s  _ broken, so it doesn’t matter.”

Archie sighed; he looked at Gold’s bad leg, stretched out just a little more than the other one. Not enough to be noticed, normally. Then he looked at Gold’s hands, at the discolored scars. He remembered the bandages that had been wrapped around Gold’s hands when Archie accidentally punched him in the face and a new thought occurred to him - it had been a month since the coffee incident at that point. Gold shouldn’t have needed bandages anymore. 

He screwed his face up, trying to remember every detail from when he spilled coffee on Gold. He’d driven Gold to the hospital afterward and Gold had jumped out, making it clear he didn’t want Archie around. But had he actually gone inside? Archie didn’t think so; he had no memory of it happening.

“Mr. Gold?” Archie said, sitting heavily on the couch across from Gold. “Are you afraid of hospitals?”

Gold froze, his wide eyes fixed on Archie’s face. “I - of - of course not.”

“Of course not,” Archie repeated.

“It’s just … wasteful,” Gold said. “Hospital visits don’t come cheap here.”

Archie considered that, his head tilting to the side. “No disrespect, Mr. Gold,” he said, “but I’m pretty sure if anyone in town can afford to go to the Emergency Room…”

“Well, no disrespect, Dr. Hopper,” Gold said, lip curling, “but how much I make is none of your business, and you have no say in how I spend my money. We’re not going to the hospital.”

Archie sighed through his nose. “Fine,” he said, leaning away. Pongo appeared at his side, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and Archie’s heart suddenly softened a little regarding Mr. Gold; he was stubborn and a little condescending, but he had brought Pongo back. In the middle of the night, no less.

“Come to the kitchen,” Archie said. “I’m making hot chocolate.”

Gold followed him silently, his injured hand pulled up to his chest, immobile. Archie bustled about the kitchen, searching for the cocoa mix he’d bought last week on an impulse. He could see Gold sneaking guarded, curious looks at his surroundings, relaxing at a painfully slow rate, and Archie couldn’t help but wonder when he’d last been invited into someone’s house.

It was past three, according to the clock. Archie poured milk into two mugs, then poured the mugs into a pot and put it on the stove. He watched the milk carefully, tasting it every minute or so to see if it was hot enough yet. Across the room, Pongo let out a low woof and stood up on his hind legs, his front paws landing clumsily on the tabletop next to Gold’s arm.

“Good boy,” Gold said softly. Archie turned back to the stove, hiding a smile. In a matter of seconds, the milk was steaming and he poured it carefully into the two mugs, stirring the cocoa mix in. In a moment of quiet but gleeful mischief, he handed Gold the mug with Winnie the Pooh characters on it and kept the much more impressive Wells Fargo mug for himself.

Gold didn’t comment. He sipped the hot chocolate without comment as well, his expression never changing. Occasionally, he would avert his gaze to watch Pongo for a moment, or he would reach out to stroke the dog’s ears, but he rarely even looked at Archie.

Archie’s hot chocolate was almost gone when he finally thought of something to say. “Are you always awake at two a.m.?”

Gold’s eyes, hooded, remained fixed on Pongo. “Yes.”

“Awake and wearing a full three-piece suit?”

Gold took a long sip of hot chocolate. “Yes.”

Archie fiddled with his mug, turning it this way and that. Pongo settled with his head in Gold’s lap and his tail tapping the floor.

“So do you own any pajamas?” Archie asked. “Or do you … just not sleep?”

“I own plenty of clothes,” Gold said, somewhat irritated. “When I must see tenants, I wear suits.”

“Why?” Archie asked. Gold sighed loudly and pushed his mug away.

“Everyone has a professional persona, Dr. Hopper,” he said. “Sometimes just wearing the right costume makes an actor feel more in-character.”

“But you’re not an actor,” Archie said. “And even if you were, you can’t wear a costume or a persona 24/7. It’s unhealthy -- that’s like the entire reason why David Bowie turned to drugs.”

“I see my tenants 24/7,” Gold grumbled. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“Well, will it really make such a big difference if you’re … out of character?” Archie asked. “Despite your reputation, you’re typically fair to your tenants. I know you’ve given me two extensions in the past, without penalty. And I’ve heard certain people talking about how you helped them. Though I admit, they usually framed it in a negative way.”

“What’s your point?” Gold asked.

“My point is, staying ‘in character’ doesn’t make people any more obedient to you as a landlord, so you might as well stop acting. It’ll take a lot of stress off.”

“It would take a lot of stress off me if you stop injuring me on a weekly basis,” Gold said. Archie blinked in surprise, his mouth falling open.

“Hey, that’s -- that’s an  _ accident _ ,” he said. “And I said I was sorry. Every time!”

Gold raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his hot chocolate, which was no longer letting off steam. “I was frankly surprised you didn’t pour the pot of boiling milk over my head,” he said. Before Archie could protest, he added, “Either you’re out to kill me or you’re the single clumsiest person I’ve ever met.”

There was a long pause; Archie was stewing and trying not to show it. Finally, Gold glanced up and gave Archie a crooked smile.

“Other than myself, of course,” he said. 

“Right,” said Archie, trying to keep a grumpy tone in his voice. But in the end, he couldn’t help but let the grumpiness melt away. Gold’s smile -- and that one, simple comment -- had trailblazed right through Archie’s chest to his heart. “When are you ever clumsy?”

Gold raised an eyebrow and then, without breaking eye contact, held his cane up. When Archie just stared at him, Gold pointedly looked down at his bad leg.

“Okay,” Archie conceded. “Pretty extreme example, but okay.”

“I’m glad you approve,” said Gold. He flashed that crooked smile again and Archie’s heart fluttered, much to his horror. He cleared his throat loudly and banged his mug against the table, trying to distract himself from his own thoughts. When Gold looked at him strangely, Archie stood and deposited the mug in the sink.

“You almost done?” he asked Gold. Gold blinked at him, then looked down at his own mug.

“Er--”

Archie used one hand to snatch away the mug. With the other, he grabbed onto Gold’s wrist, examining the injured hand gently. Gold hissed and went still.

“It’s gonna heal crooked, you know,” Archie said.

“Don’t care,” Gold said, the words hissing through clenched teeth. His eyes were glinting.

“I care,” said Archie firmly, and the glint suddenly went away. Gold looked almost comically lost; the tension left his body entirely, so that he suddenly seemed small and frail. “Let me take you to the hospital,” Archie said. “I refuse to let you go home until you see a doctor. It’s my payment for you bringing Pongo home.”

Gold scoffed but didn’t pull away. “Some payment,” he said. Pongo shifted so that his head was lying on his front paws and Gold craned his neck to give him a scathing glare. “Next time I’ll just call you a cab.”

* * *

“Do you have any questions?” the nurse asked.

Gold looked down at the splint on his hand. Archie sat nearby, sleepiness catching up to him bit-by-bit.

“Ah, no,” Gold said finally.

“Then you’re free to go.”

They walked out into the fresh sunlight, Archie still recovering from his almost-nap in the chair. Gold’s hand seemed to be aching even worse than it did an hour ago, but he felt unusually light and carefree. It was impossible to say why -- maybe because his hand wasn’t going to heal crookedly like his leg had. Or maybe because Archie had come with him, or because Archie had said he cared, but both of those ideas were preposterous, because if Gold was sure of one thing, it was that he never wanted to see Dr. Archibald Hopper again.

“I would love to,” Archie said, with a horribly soft smile. Gold blinked rapidly, looking around to see who Archie was talking to. There was no one else there, just the two of them alone in the hospital parking lot at dawn.

“I beg your pardon?” Gold said.

“I would love to,” Archie said again. His smile was still there. It was still horribly soft. Gold’s chest tightened.

“Love to  _ what _ ?” he said. Archie’s smile dissolved into a look of confusion.

“Get coffee,” he said.

“Get coffee?” Gold repeated, bewildered. He cradled his injured hand to his chest, feeling like it had somehow wronged him -- perhaps it was infected, and the virus was already affecting his brain.

“Yeah,” said Archie. He spoke very slowly. “You asked if I wanted to get coffee.”

“Oh,” Gold said. He certainly hadn’t  _ meant  _ to say that. He weighed his options, trying to come up with a good excuse. “Don’t you need to walk Pongo?”

“He just got a walk,” said Archie dismissively. “When you brought him over, and right before that when he ran away. He’ll be fine.”

Gold shut his mouth and nodded. He couldn’t think of any other excuse. Obviously he couldn’t say he had an appointment, because he’d been the one to suggest it. He walked next to Archie in silence, his hand throbbing, until they neared the docks and Archie turned right onto the boardwalk, where a few touristy shops had been set up in the hopes that Storybrooke might someday actually have tourists.

There was only one shop open at the moment -- a little cafe with a sleepy-looking teenager behind the counter.

“Come on,” Archie said, holding the door open. Gold nodded to him and stepped into the shop, mindful of the half-inch rise of the floor. 

BAM.

Not so mindful, it happened, of Archie’s foot.

“Fuck,” Gold muttered, pushing himself up off the floor with one hand. The injured hand stayed close to his chest, miraculously unharmed by the trip. Archie was already babbling, hovering around Gold like a concerned mother hen.

“Gold, I’m so sorry, honestly I didn’t mean to trip you, I even made sure my feet weren’t in the way, I have no idea how you--”

“It’s fine,” Gold said. Archie helped him up; the teen behind the counter said nothing, like his shift always started like this. And the sunlight was streaming in through the window now, hitting Archie’s hair perfectly and making it look like his hair on fire. Which was both a pretty sight, Gold mused, as well as a great idea for revenge.

“I’ll get your coffee,” Archie said, his hand still on Gold’s elbow to balance him.

“Of course you will,” said Gold with a small smile. “You tripped me.”


End file.
